


Small Words

by Effluvium



Series: Emotional Excuses [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effluvium/pseuds/Effluvium
Summary: The notebook was small, black, leather.  The pages were crumpled and stiff, darkened by the pencil and pen covering the small pieces of paper in frantic, panicked letters and numbers and small words.





	Small Words

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I've been a while... writer's blocks are some horrid stuff. I'm so sorry.

“Sir, Ned Leeds is taking the stairs to your office.”

It wasn’t like FRIDAY to open the doors for anyone at the front door. She was no JARVIS, but that didn’t make her incompetent.

And so, when the fifteen-year-old walked into his large, grey room, Tony didn’t know what to think.

“There’s an elevator, y’know.”

“I don’t like elevators.”

Tony blinked, frowning. “It’s nine,” he deadpanned, glancing at the dark sky outside. “It’s twenty degrees and you don’t have a jacket.”

Ned shrugged, a tired, worn look on his face as he stuffed his hands in his thin, blue hoodie. “It’s okay. I’m not cold.”

“Why’re you here?”

Ned slid his bag off his shoulders, placing it gently on the tile floors. “When was the last time you talked to Peter, sir?”

The billionaire paused, looking down at his pristine, metal desk. “I don’t remember.”

“I talked to him -- today, actually.” The boy sat down in front of the desk, sinking into the cold, slightly cushioned chair. “He was different.”

“May’s death --”

“He wouldn’t talk back.” Ned narrowed his eyes, but lacked intimidation. “And he wouldn’t participate in class, and he wouldn’t run in PE -- he _loves_ to run, sir.”

A jet flew by in the distance, the roar meeting their ears as silence spanned between them. Tony didn’t know what to say.

“His left eye watered a bit more than usual,” Ned continued, sounding concerned and thoughtful. “And his leg kept seizing up, and his handwriting was horrific -- absolutely unreadable.” He looked up, staring. “He was _hurting_ , sir. And he recovered from May’s death a while ago.”

Tony looked at the clock; nine-oh-eight. December 5th. It was snowing outside, and the training room was emptier than it was last night.

“Probably ghost pains.”

“Times Tower happened almost a year ago.” Ned blinked slowly. “You need to talk to him, sir. He… needs you, in his life.”

His phone vibrated, its screen glowing in response to a text. Tony glanced at it, stuffing it in his desk drawer. He tended to ignore the devices when he was talking to someone, preferring the emotional faces over the glass screens.

“I can’t help him, Ned.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” he trailed off, biting his lip. “I’m just not capable.”

Ned blinked, sniffling a little bit, rubbing his face with his thin, wool sleeve. He swung his backpack over his shoulder, setting it nonchalantly by one of Tony’s desks. Out of the orange bag came a small, black notebook with rumpled, thick pages, preventing it from laying closed flat.

“Peter and I used to go to this book club at school,” he started, looking longingly at the notebook on the table. “It was towards the beginning of sixth grade. No one else ever went, so it ended up just being us and the director, Ms. Rain.”

Ned glanced up. “It was probably the best thing him and I have ever done, next to Decathlon -- and his Spider-Man business, of course. Ms. Rain loved us and we’d just read and read and read, running through real and fake and filling our minds with thousands of colors.”

Tony bit his lip. “Sounds nice.”

“It was. Especially for Peter, I think.” Ned looked at his janky wrist watch; 9:27. “He struggled, y’know? He struggled to comprehend, to listen, to remember. But those stories helped him; every small word, every new character. They brought him joy.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Ms. Rain died. Murdered in her home, a few minutes away from Peter’s little room.” Ned shivered, mirroring Tony’s chilled expression. “We didn’t have the heart to go back to the room, to pick up any of those books. I think it set us back.”

“Set you back how?”

“Took a bit of our heart away. Dialed down our imaginations.”

Another jet went by in the distance, this one closer. There was a sort of quiet horror in the room now, a sort of suspense, and it disturbed Tony.

“I was so excited when I found out Peter was Spider-Man.” Ned smiled a bit, cheek twitching in confliction. “It was by complete accident, and I probably made his life a bit more difficult afterwards, but it was a rush knowing something like that.”

The phone buzzed again, vibrated louder, echoing slightly in the momentary pause. Ned blinked, rose a brow, and sighed.

“And then… Times Tower happened. I nearly got him killed.” He tilted his head, looking down at his hands. “He broke half his body and came back different. But he was still okay, right, Tony? Because he doesn’t _care_ about himself.”

It was a harsh break in the conversation. It set Tony forward a bit, embedded him in the reality of the situation he was faced with; he was a part of something much smaller, much more important, and it was terrifyingly close to shattering.

“He’s self-sacrificing.”

“He’s _suicidal_.” Ned’s voice hardened as he leaned forward. “He’s suicidal without May, without a guardian, without someone he needs to protect.”

“He’s got you and Michelle.”

Ned huffed, shaking his head in exasperation. “He needs _you_ , Tony. He needs someone to look up to, to impress, to be proud of him. He needs someone that’ll _protect him_ , that’ll _make him feel safe_.”

Silence.

Tony looked at the boy, clenching his jaw, standing up stiffly. A third jet flew by behind him. “I am not that person. I am the farthest from that.”

Ned stood too, knowing it’d do him no good. He hardened, narrowing his eyes as he took the billionaire in. “You’re defensive. You know I’m right.”

“Ned, you’re stepping on a dangerous line.”

“I’ve been on one since I found Peter out.” The student bit back, standing straighter. “I know him -- I know his small habits, his small words and his individual, hidden cares and _I know him_ , Tony, but you _recognize him_.”

Silence. 

A pin could be heard dropping.

A fourth jet went by.

“You see him for his smarts, for his kindness, for his potential.” Ned breathed, giving the man his undivided attention. “You see him for the amazing, benevolent man he is, and you see just how _young_ he is, too.”

“Ned --”

“This notebook is full of notes.” He held the leather-bound paper in the air. “Suicide notes, love notes, hate letters. They’re all written by him, and he doesn’t know I took it from under his bed.”

Tony’s eyes watered.

“He wasn’t the same yesterday.” The air warmed again. “He was twitchy, he was standoffish, and he was terrified. He’s _guilty_ , _truly_ guilty, and you need to _relieve him of that_.”

Tony looked at the boy and remembered the stuttering mess he was when they’d first met. He’d been excited, kind and overly polite. He’d been enthusiastic and bothersome and it was _hilarious_.

And he’d just stormed out his house.

**Author's Note:**

> Times Tower is a reference to the first installment in this series.


End file.
